vervolium

why burn the bridge? so that no wounded birds could live under it to keep their wounds alive your irony is like sulfur “no” is a burning word takes the iron rod giver to say it right they undo every right and fight for every wrong like that recalled letter of apology drop-dead bird mockingly unsent ungone, unknowing of its power ironic like dried sunflower on a blue chalkboard the art of death reigns in their hearts there is only defiance of dessicated flowers  between acknowledgment of rain  given in the right season and the first hydrating sip of life as it were to be fractions matter, splits of seconds are life ages of stubborn magma buildup can crumble in a blink of an eye, when you see how many grand personas brake down between saying thank you and being grateful always

jezebel of plastic bells she smiles her best reverend smile when she feels like murder toward someone somehow holier than her best self-delusion   //who do you pray to when your mouth is like abyss and your words poison the light of day like smoke? for what good are prayers filled with lies?// jezebel of elastic tales   she proclaims peace and love for all the reverend mothers of thieves and whores all jezebels and delilahs, oh dear interrogating imaginary spirits sisters   //who do you pray to when you open your abyss and your words are a swarm of hungry locusts?// jezebel of plastic sails   she storms her smiley guile-y heaven by offering candy in unrestrained profusion that's how she understands life all the things sweet and nice for the queen of heaven’s paradise   //who do you pray to when your heart has seven heads and ten horns? some sleazy god somebody else believes in? granting authority to your fake eyelashes and your piou...

she was like a walking floral arrangement marinated in forced politeness glazed with jealousy and sprinkled with pride but there was the voice in her jar, the cry madness or God? a baby or a cat in heat? she asked but nobody knew all those puny politicians she met fake jesuses and fake madonnas poorly acting bad lovers and bad clowns breath odor apollos under the unbathed sun... she was pickled in her baby time stamped with madonna's face for eternal shame her cemented heart did not remember itself 'slap me, make me laugh, i provoke, i don't beg' became its epitaph engraved on a city sidewalk by her tears she once shed before she became a walking howl of a desert with a whip in her claws and a stare of a chef her mind covered with thick layers of caramel she kept the wind still with sugar icing and hiding from the sun under the layers of fondant futility became her way vanity became her safety goggles as she walked with less spring and more ...

when the thieves pray for more loot, who can hear them? in heaven or in hell? let the wind know, let the wind know if you forget your name the wind will still blow your thoughts away when the whores pray for more wages, who can hear them? whose job is it to care? in heaven or in hell? let the clouds know, let the clouds know if you forget your name the rain will wet your hair anyway please, love me not the teddy bears and dolls are all asleep now this factory of dreams is a delusion there is no path through the house of terrors the neon signs were all lying tell me what pay is worth playing a nameless agent a role with so many angry lines in a play called "I wish I were rich" befriended and adored only by the three-headed snake of familiar spirit? [weeping is heard in the clouds but the streets are dry] please, love me not when the hands tired of work and hearts hardened by adversity rise in thanksgiving prayer why is the snake still speak...

why did I ever think that coming to this promised land would be as easy as walking into a movie theater where you just grab your snacks and the best seat you can and sit back and enjoy the show? while it’s a battlefield of all the birds of prey I came, I saw, I said: hello, burger and fries please and I got food poisoned the offering of this land turned out to be highly processed, artificially sweetened and subtly poisonous so were the words of its gods I am moses without people I am people without moses I am zion without God I have superiority in my flesh and sovereignty in my blood there is no spirit in my breath and only sweet venom in my mouth so were the songs of its mothers seven years and seven years of walking around with trumpets and the walls did not fall my private jericho stands as it was just quietly burns in shame let it stay unclaimed let it stay unclaimed so were not the fists of its fathers trouble trouble trouble overstay your welco...

hypnotized by the big screen, wrapped in your cozy fleece you can be so rumpelstiltskin spinning awkward lines into moneymaking grease day and night, in sickness and in health you spin lines that pry open any hidden wallet lines that threaten and guile with a twist and a smile and the poor ignorants' money just pour and you are so proud, so proud, so proud for bringing in the flow to your grateful crowd that you turn your mouth into a radio station for the greedy an everyday hymn to the money oh, wonderful and there is just that unknown, annoying inconveniently undying feeling somewhere deep in your heart but you keep it bound with your perfect grin and there is no dwarf or giant to tell you what it is and all the money you got cannot buy you peace and you no longer own your own mouth there is a hidden war between your heart and mind and there is war all around and you are not blind every up against every down every left against every right every new against ...